I was at a meeting in lush Canberran Wintery surrounds; a dimly lit room enhanced with candles—actual wax with the burning and the melting—and a roaring fireplace as like-minded met to discuss the way ahead. For comfort's sake and so I didn't have to sit next to people I put my chair against the wall. I man spread 'cos of my skeleton and people either side should not have to put up with that. It also meant when I asked questions I was separate from others and in a commanding spot to enhance my delivery. I didn't plan for that but that was the effect. The meeting was held in a dining hotel and through the wall of the room next door I could hear the music.At one point, during a quiet bit of the meeting where someone speaking had a voice not as loud, the music dominated the soundscape, at least for me because I was up against the percussive wall. It was "Get up (I feel like a) Sex Machine" by James Brown.Given we were seated save the speaker it was all I could do to not bust up laughing each time I heard "get on up" or "get up" followed by "like a sex machine".